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This is the blog haven of Syrian author Ammar Abdulhamid, the place where he gets to express his thoughts and vent his frustration with regard to the ever so pretentious march of human folly. In this, he seeks to tread ever so carefully and lightly so as to avoid the usual pitfalls of megalomania and cynicism in which authors living in feverish times tend, customarily, to fall. Will he succeed? But then, and with an introduction like this, perhaps his fate is already sealed.

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Name: Ammar Abdulhamid
Location: Silver Spring, Maryland

Ammar Abdulhamid was born on May 30, 1966 to a well-known artistic family in Damascus, Syria. Ammar spent an important part of his life in the United States (1986-1994) studying astronomy and history (he graduated from the University of Wisconsin - Stevens Point in 1992 with a BS in history), and purging himself of his religious zealotry. He returned to his home-country in September, 1994 and was forced to leave on September 7, 2005 due to his increasing and vocal criticism of the ruling regime and its president. In 2003, Ammar established DarEmar, a publishing house/NGO dedicated to raising the standards of civic awareness in the Arab World, and launched the Tharwa Project, a program designed to address diversity issues in the region. In 2001, Ammar met and married Khawla Yusuf (born on September 26, 1968), a Syrian fashion designer and activist. The couple currently lives in Silver Spring, Maryland with their two children: Mouhanad (1990) and Oula (1986). Ammar is a Non-Resident Fellow at the Saban Center for Middle East Policy at the Brookings Institution in Washington, DC, and a Fellow at the International Institute for Modern Letters, in Las Vegas.

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Friday, March 04, 2005

Letter to a Friend!

The sobering words I received as a reply to my message below, I will take to heart. Still, there is no logic as to how one feels. I am ashamed and I am ashamed for feeling ashamed. Yet, I remain alive so, in time, I am bound to get over it somehow. For I cannot stomach the very idea of patronage and despair. There is something inside of me that militates and rebels against that. Being ashamed is one thing, I am still a rebel inside.

What can I say, dear friend? If I could only see the slightest possibility of popular agitation against the regime, I would never leave the country, and would Khawla herself, for all her worries and angst will back me on this. But continued popular apathy combined with the impotence of opposition and dissident groups make such a prospect highly unlikely.

The attitude of our taxi drivers is the measuring stick I usually use in this regard. Several taxi-drivers I encountered in the last few days have already expressed extreme annoyance with the government regarding espousing causes that are "bigger than we are," including our "support" throughout the years for the Palestinians and Lebanese, and now the Iraqis. "Where did all this get us?" The brave drivers wondered. Corruption is rampant, prices of basic goods are soaring, unemployment is widespread, the educational systems are imploding, and we are hated by just about everybody, in the region and abroad. Still, "would you join an anti-government demonstration?" I asked. But "this is not Lebanon,” I was reminded, the assholes over here are willing to destroy every house in every city rather than give up power.

Indeed, the only possible scenarios in Syria today are:

* A purge by the Presidential Family to help them stay in power and avoid any potential sedition related to the impending withdrawal from Lebanon or impending international sanctions as a result of not-withdrawing (hence the recent promotion of the brother-in-law making him in charge of all military intelligence).
** Assassinating the President as the most logical fall-guy, in the hope of stirring the mix a little bit, and create a new sense of dynamics, which, whether violence or not, could eventually pave the way for a faster “recovery” from all set-backs.
*** The emergence of a fifth column which will most assuredly seek US support to overthrow the current leaders, seeing that the gun-power is on their side. Believe it or not, the Fifth Column here will most likely be made up of certain Old Guard figures, Sunnis and ‘Alawis alike, who are rumored to be extremely upset with the President’s handling of the country’s foreign affairs. Indeed, we have to note here that we can no longer live under the old assumption that Old Guard are to blame for the country’s stalemate. Indeed, it now seems that the New Guard, the President included, are more to blame.

Can you see then, my friend, why Khawla and I have decided to leave? This country is about to implode, and we cannot afford to be caught up in this. We will be among the first people to be targeted in the upcoming mayhem: we are secular, liberal, Americanized and have all these "dubious" connections with all these “dubious” figures and organizations. What used to be helpful for us before, will soon turn against us. The magic has turned against the magician, as some had put it.

So, and while some of my fellow dissidents are hopeful on account of the ongoing developments in Lebanon, I cannot see but portents of doom. (Note: these very people were hopeful too when the President came to power. I was mostly skeptical then too, but I was willing to believe nonetheless, or, rather, to work against my own cynicism, to test the waters, to give it a try, but I thought the “we” in “me” was worse the shot).

Still, I challenged my friends to give me one reason to be optimistic on the basis of internal developments. They couldn't. They couldn’t.

We are in rigor mortis here, my friend, and our decaying souls are poisoning the very soil we long held sacred. Nothing good will come out of here for decades. Nothing. Not even a successful regime change will give me hope, unless it were peaceful. For violence will only beget violence and the sectarian black hole will suck us all in. I wouldn’t want that for us.

So, yes, indeed, I am serious about leaving. I have no idea how yet, and I have no idea where. Anywhere but here seems like an acceptable motto. Or should I dare hope for hope itself and say: anywhere where hop can still thrive?

The worst thing in all this, though, is the sense of deep shame that feels like an unrelenting choking sensation that cripples my mind and soul. I was so hopeful for a while, not too long ago, so cocky, so sure of myself. But I was blind then, wasn’t I? For that, I almost run roughshod over all the people I love. But no. I need to get them out of here. I owe them that much. That’s understandable, isn’t it?

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